Birds of a Feather

by Allison Lane

  He rose. “I must change if we are to drive out.”

  * * * *

  Joanna watched him enter his bedroom, her head swirling with more emotions than she could define.

  He had provided far more help than she had requested. Not only had he settled Harriet, but he had bailed Wicksfield out of debt and completed her own unfinished business. She doubted that finding a job for Geoffrey had entered into it. A good man of business would have his choice of employers.

  So she had been right to seek his help.

  His actions supported her growing suspicion that his facade hid a sensitive nature – the sort of sensibility that made him susceptible to deep pain and would have left him helpless against his parents. Only by hiding it had he survived his father’s demands for perfection and his mother’s cutting disapproval.

  Her own confrontation with Lady Glendale had been torture, but it had raised disturbing images of Sedge’s childhood. Granted, Lady Glendale hated Joanna’s low breeding and inadequate training. But the antagonism had run deeper, reminding her of an old neighbor. Both women abhorred anyone who dared to cross class boundaries. But buried beneath that automatic reaction was a powerful need to control – not just behavior and events, but people’s very thoughts. Lady Glendale would despise anyone who failed to follow her lead.

  Faced with a mother who demanded absolute obedience, Reggie had turned stubborn and Sedge had buried his soft heart under a façade of frivolous excess. Had he also sought Society’s admiration to offset the constant criticism he received at home? Perhaps that acclaim validated his worth – at least in his own mind.

  It wasn’t the same, of course. Public accolades could never replace a parent’s love, especially when offered by a fickle Society. But maybe she could help. He had seemed inordinately pleased at her reaction just now. Genuine gratitude had to mean more than the pompous posturings of youthful puppies or the fatuous fawning of witless matrons.

  So perhaps their marriage would eventually work. She could not hope for anything beyond a comfortable friendship, but achieving that would be enough.

  Or would it? She shivered to recall his firmly muscled body and his willingness to rescue a stranger from harm. His fury when she bumped Mrs. Stanhope into the street had cut more deeply than it should have. Their conversations had always been exhilarating. Even the confrontation at the masquerade—

  She had been too groggy to think clearly upon awakening to find him hovering over her. But that had not lessened his impact. He was very handsome. His eyes had been blue and filled with concern – at least until Mrs. Drummond-Burrell arrived. His dark hair had been disheveled where he had run his fingers through it. And his first words had drawn her attention to his mouth, to the sensuous lips she had wanted to touch…

  Surely I can’t be that stupid!

  But the memories paraded inexorably through her mind. His overpowering virility at the altar that had forced her eyes to Reggie in search of relief – or to hide her reaction. Her pain when he declined to consummate their marriage. Her joy when he responded to her plea for help.

  She had fallen in love with him.

  Stupid fool! Though it had been inevitable. From the moment she had realized that he was more than a posturing fribble, she had been doomed. But this would add untold complications to her life.

  Tears returned, stronger than ever. She could never admit her love, for despite today’s softening, his eyes remained gray. He still resented her. Once he heard the latest tales, that would get worse. He would interpret any claim of love as a new form of manipulation, rejecting it out of hand, for it would seem to validate the stories.

  Neither of them could ignore the difference in their stations. He might force his friends to accept her, but even he lacked the power to make Society admit her. His position was already slipping. In time, her presence would erode his consequence until no one followed his lead. If he truly was using Society’s regard to validate his worth, he would be devastated.

  And he would come to resent her shortcomings. Lady Glendale’s criticisms might have sounded cruel, but they were realistic. Time would reveal one problem after another until even Sedge would throw his hands up in despair. Eventually her clumsiness would mortify him in public, or nervousness would cause her to utter some gauche comment to a powerful Society figure, or stuttering would make her a laughingstock.

  She grimaced. Love raised the stakes of every encounter. His frustration would cut more deeply. His indifference would chafe. She would feel every diminution of his reputation, for it would be entirely her fault.

  Yet Reggie’s vow to remain unwed posed a worse problem. Sedge would have to father the next marquess. How would he feel about injecting her bloodlines into the family? Sooner or later he was bound to demand his rights – unless he had already considered the question and was avoiding her for that very reason.

  She shivered. Could she hide her love if he claimed that ultimate intimacy?

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “What the devil?” Sedge bit back further curses. He had already made Joanna jump.

  The fashionable hour had been a pleasant diversion. He hadn’t known what to expect after Joanna’s inferences, but either she was overreacting to people’s inevitable coolness as they evaluated a newcomer, or his credit drove animosity into hiding.

  Everyone had been bursting with curiosity over his absence and eager to tell him the latest gossip, most of which he had heard from Joanna before reaching the park. A few more sprigs had transferred their allegiance to Kingsford, but Sedge was happy enough to see them go. It was time to find a more substantive way to occupy his days.

  His concern that Joanna might stutter had rapidly disappeared. Her poise had grown during his absence, becoming natural. In fact she now exuded a composure that he found very relaxing, and a calm that could provide an anchor for his life.

  So his homecoming had seemed successful – until he entered Grosvenor Square. His father’s traveling carriage sat before the house, footmen still unstrapping trunks.

  “Is something wrong?” Joanna asked hesitantly.

  “Perhaps. Father hasn’t been to town in ten years – on orders from his doctor. I hope he has not suffered another spell. Did you know he was coming?”

  “Of course not! How can you think I would have said nothing?”

  “Forgive me. Such a stupid question reveals how weary I’ve grown.” More than she knew. Hard travel aside, he’d slept little in recent days, and rarely soundly. “I expect he is here to consult a new doctor.”

  “I doubt it. He has the power to demand that a doctor attend him at home. He probably came to meet the upstart you thrust into the family.” Bitterness had crept into her voice.

  “You are no upstart, Joanna,” he protested. “And we will be at the Close in less than a month, so he cannot have come for that. It must be his health – which bothers me,” he admitted in distraction. “He hates leaving the steward in charge and once left thirty pages of detailed instructions for a three-day absence.”

  “Then why did he hire the man?”

  “Always speak your mind to me, Joanna,” he begged as she flinched. Her blush indicated that she was regretting the hasty words. “We must be honest with each other if we are to make this work.” He pulled up behind the carriage. “The steward is better than most, for he not only knows his own job, he understands that Father needs to feel in control.”

  “So one must humor him?”

  He shrugged. “I suppose that is true, though I’ve never really considered it in those terms. His demands have increased since his health began to decline. Every new restriction on his activity makes him less tolerant of opposition to his orders. I hope I never grow so autocratic.”

  She tilted her head, examining him from head to toe. “I doubt that is possible, Sedge. How could we increase your power short of handing you the throne? People already scramble to fulfill your every desire.”

  He laughed, squeezing her hand in delight. “How right
you are. I can be insufferably arrogant, as Randolph reminds me all too often.”

  “Randolph?”

  “My closest friend. We grew up together. But I doubt you know him. He left town the day we met. I was returning from his wedding when you jumped in front of that carriage.” He lifted her down from the phaeton, tucking her arm through his own.

  “Ah, Lord Symington.”

  “You know him?”

  She shook her head. “Lady Wicksfield mourned his nuptials, for she coveted his wealth.”

  “You will meet him once the Season ends. His estate adjoins mine.”

  “Where is your estate?” She again tilted her head. “I actually know very little about you.”

  “A problem we must correct,” he agreed. “Meadowbanks is in Kent, about fifty miles from London.” He described it as he escorted her into the house, using the words to ease his trepidation over his father’s arrival. Whatever Glendale’s reasons for coming to town, this visit boded ill. His chest tightened.

  Glendale was in the library, his glower making the room seem colder than usual. Sedge set his face in an expressionless mask, wishing that he had sent Joanna upstairs. Only now did he recognize that she had been on the right track. The man was here to read the riot act for wedding without his permission.

  The marquess sat in the position of power behind the desk, as erect as a military officer despite his obvious illness. His face contained no trace of warmth, the eyes a hard, flat gray.

  Sedge drew Joanna closer to his side, aware that she was trembling. “What a surprise, Father.” He kept the tone carefully neutral, barely able to suppress his own tremors. “This is Joanna.”

  “My lord.” She curtsied to the precise depth required for a marquess.

  Glendale remained silent, only his eyes moving as he examined her from head to toe.

  * * * *

  Joanna tried not to lean on Sedge, though she was grateful for the warmth of his arm. She hoped none of her thoughts showed on her face. His neutral tone masked more than surprise. It seemed to hide fear. Reggie had been called home shortly after befriending her. Then Lady Glendale. Had Sedge refused a similar summons? He must know Glendale was appalled at his choice of wife.

  She had no doubt why Glendale was here. Lady Glendale must have summoned him the moment Sedge had left. Considering the theme of the marchioness’s lecture, they had probably planned to dispose of her before Sedge returned. She should have expected this. Glendale was a perfectionist. Lady Glendale needed control. Both would do whatever was necessary to keep her out of the family.

  Now she regretted not telling Sedge about his mother’s antagonism. She had thought to spare his feelings, but ignorance would put him at a disadvantage in this confrontation.

  Or would it?

  The marquess had yet to speak a word, but his eyes clashed with Sedge’s now that his harsh gaze had stopped stripping her bare. She glanced from one to the other and shivered. Even at his angriest, Sedge had never displayed his father’s heartless fury. She suddenly knew that older quarrels already divided them. At least Sedge would not be caught by surprise. Without moving a muscle, they gave the impression of dogs warily circling.

  The marquess finally spoke. “Miss Patterson may change for dinner.” If she knows how. The unspoken criticism hung in the air.

  “Lady Sedgewick.” Sedge’s correction was even colder. He turned her toward the hall – they had progressed barely two steps beyond the doorway.

  “Sedgewick, you will remain here.” The order was colder yet.

  “My apologies, sir, but we are promised to the Caristokes this evening. We will wait on you in the morning. Together.” He whisked her out of the library before Glendale could respond.

  “Wasn’t that rather rude?” she asked hesitantly.

  “Perhaps.” He let out a long sigh. “Forgive him, Joanna. He is never amiable after a journey. Had I known he was coming, I would have contrived to be away.”

  She frowned. He could not have missed Glendale’s antipathy. But there was no time for discussion. She would have to hurry if they were to make dinner. Caristoke would forgive them, but she would rather not cast a pall over the evening by mentioning Glendale’s obvious fury.

  “Don’t look so anxious,” he begged, covering her hand when they reached her door. “All will be well.” Having uttered what at best was an exaggeration, he squeezed her fingers, then continued down the hall to his dressing room.

  * * * *

  After dinner, Sedge returned to Caristoke’s drawing room. Only his closest friends had gathered here this evening. They would all leave for the Rufton ball shortly. Joanna seemed at ease. Wormsley had her doubled over in laughter.

  “Have you heard from Glendale yet?” asked Hartford.

  “He showed up this afternoon.”

  Hartford nearly choked on his wine. “Good God! Did he vent his spleen on your wife?” But he was already shaking his head. “Can’t have. She’s too relaxed.”

  Joanna was now chattering with the other wives. “He had no time. I rushed her to up change and refused to speak with him myself – which will only make him worse.”

  “He’ll come around once he admits what a gem you found.”

  Sedge skirted that topic, though Thomas’s words confirmed that the reformed rake had lost neither his eye for an enticing woman nor his ability to look beyond the surface. He had to agree with the assessment. Joanna was indeed a gem – or would be once she abandoned her infatuation with Reggie and honed her confidence. “I doubt he will ever approve. He is the most exacting man I know. Nothing less than a duke’s daughter would satisfy him.”

  “My mother is equally stiff-rumped. She made no effort to accept my marriage until she got to know Caroline. Then she couldn’t help herself.” He grinned. “By the time Robin was born, you would have thought she’d arranged the match herself.”

  “Glendale would never be swayed by a child, not even by a charmer like Robin – that boy will lead you a merry dance one day,” he added lightly.

  “He already does. Robbie can get into more mischief than any four ordinary lads. Even more than the four of us at our wildest.” He smiled to recall the days when Sedge, Caristoke, and Rufton had been his schoolmates.

  Caristoke joined them, launching a convoluted tale about a squabble over a newly arrived actress. Sedge injected comments at appropriate intervals, but most of his attention was on Joanna.

  She sparkled this evening. As in the park, she was more poised than he remembered. Yet she should not be. The rumors had grown while he’d been at Wicksfield, many of them casting aspersions on her background. She ought to be a stammering, clumsy idiot by now.

  Unless she was responding to his own changed demeanor. In fact, that was the only explanation. His father’s antagonism would have started her stuttering only a few days ago. But he was calmer now. They had laughed together, teasing each other into relaxation and sharing the amusement he always felt over people’s behavior. Her interpretation of Society’s recent antics had been identical to his.

  And that was good. So far, the day had gone well. He would see that she enjoyed the ball. With luck, a frank discussion once they returned home would lay her infatuation to rest, so he could consummate their union. Erotic dreams had plagued him for days.

  * * * *

  Harriet pounced the moment they arrived at the ball, her smile a mile wide, exuberance broadening every gesture.

  “Thank you, Joanna. And you, my lord,” she added to Sedge. “Words cannot convey my gratitude for what you have done for us.”

  “I take it your mother accepted Mr. Wethersby,” said Joanna after reminding her former charge to control her excitement in public.

  “With reluctance, but Papa’s letter left her no choice. We will return to the Manor next week. Jonathan will escort his family there at the end of the month, with the wedding scheduled a fortnight later. Will you attend?”

  “Of course,” said Sedge before Joanna could respond. “And
may I offer my best wishes?”

  “Thank you.”

  Noting that Harriet was again ready to erupt into paroxysms of joy, Sedge smiled at Joanna and left them alone.

  She led Harriet to the retiring room. “Jump up and down and scream if you must,” she said with a laugh. “Just do it here lest you make a cake of yourself in public.”

  Harriet grabbed her in a suffocating hug, then did indeed jump up and down. “How can I ever thank you? I was so miserable, terrified that Mama would do something awful.”

  “She may well have.”

  “And how could I have been so wrong about Lord Sedgewick?” Harriet hadn’t heard her. “I thought him hopelessly arrogant, yet look at the trouble he took to convince Papa to accept Jonathan. He is the most wonderful man. You must be the luckiest girl alive – after me, of course. I can hardly wait for the wedding. Tell me what to expect.”

  “Another time,” she begged. “You have more pressing concerns. Everyone will speak with you tonight, and you must show them what an elegant lady you are. Someone who is about to marry cannot act the giddy girl.”

  It took a quarter hour to blunt Harriet’s exuberance. Sedge was waiting for her near the stairs.

  “Has she recovered?”

  “I hope so. She is so very young. One forgets how energetic girls are at that age.”

  “I doubt most girls are that bad.”

  “True. I have a sister a year younger. She wouldn’t dream of making such a scene.”

  “Will you honor me with this set?” he asked as the beginnings of a waltz filled the room.

  “Of course.”

  They did not speak much as they danced, for which she was grateful. Love weakened her knees. She was aware of each finger of the hand that rested on her waist, of the occasional brush of a thigh as they wove around other couples, of the virility radiating from him in waves. His eyes were blue again, the first prolonged blue she had seen in days. This duty dance no longer filled him with fury. Hiding her reaction required all her concentration.